


Bad Boys

by pickleplum



Series: Tales from the Shatterdomes [15]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickleplum/pseuds/pickleplum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first three years as a Jaeger pilot for one Ranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Boys

You still owe thousands on your student debt.  
(Over $30,000 last time you checked—and growing.)  
Your job's a dead end.  
(What did you expect as non-family at a family business?)  
Your fiancée left.  
('You've got no future,' she said; now the rings are somewhere off the breakwater.)  
Your parents talk about your 'potential.'  
(In that tone they used when your pet hamster died.)  
And, oh yea, there are giant monsters trying to tear the world apart.  
(You watched one swim by before it ate half of Sydney.)

You've got nothing to lose.  
So you fill out the paperwork to join the PPDC.

Logan's even more lost than you.  
If he keeps going this way he'll wind up in jail.  
(At least Derek has his head on right.)  
You talk Logan into joining you.  
It'll keep him out of trouble.  
Probably.  
Hopefully.

You get off the plane in Kodiak and Jesus Christ it's stupid fuckin' unbelievable cold.  
So cold your teeth hurt and the snot freezes in your nose.  
There aren't enough jumpers in your bag to deal with this.  
Logan laughs at your chattering teeth.  
You shove him into the first snowbank you pass.  
He grabs your ankle and pulls you in after.  
By the time some military types pull you apart, you're soaked to the skin.  
You shiver so hard you can barely walk to the dorms.  
After a very hot shower, you head straight to Stores, buy long underwear, a mountain of socks, and a half-dozen more jumpers.  
No one sees your toes for weeks.

You expect to be singled out as a programmer or tech—that's your background, after all.  
But it turns out you have another talent.  
Whatever it is in Logan's brain that lets him pick fights with men twice his size and win?  
You've got it, too.  
Turns out, you're good at fighting.  
Turns out, you **like** it.  
Like a score of your classmates, probably.  
You don't expect the instructors to notice.  
But they do.  
The nerds spend a morning hooking you and Logan to machines and staring at readouts.  
And then you Drift.  
You hold steady, move together, the required ten minutes: piece 'a cake.  
Logan's dizzying _black-green-blue_ inside.  
He says you're gold.  
Thank **god** you make it to your room before you both throw up.

You're marked for the Ranger track.  
Mum and Dad's surprise stings a bit.

You manage to keep up with Logan.  
Until you don't and you're in Medical nursing the shoulder he separated.  
They introduce you to Andrea.  
She uses girly soap and wears pink and was that kid in school with two glue sticks, a spare eraser, and a shoulder to cry on.  
Turns out she's got a stronger neural handshake with Logan than you do.  
She's declared your Spare.  
She tries not to cry.  
You offer a shoulder (the good one).

Your fighting style is nothing special.  
The Kiwi tank proves it.  
Kneecaps both of you with his first three strikes.  
(You work on your defense; he never manages it again.)  
Your endurance, though, catches eyes.  
All those 'worthless' hours of triathlon training pay off.  
You and Logan steadily pound your opponents into exhaustion.  
If you want, you can drag bouts on almost indefinitely.  
The only ones who can stay with you in a long, fair fight are the tiny Chinese monks—sorry, **novices**.  
In an unfair fight, they're hilariously easy to fluster.  
Flustered novices leave **lots** of openings.  
You repeatedly wipe the floor with them.  
The younger one gets better.  
The older one must have a stick up his ass.  
You perfect your trash talk.  
The novices still do better in the classroom.  
The younger one even helps Logan with the most stupid hard problem sets.  
Logan teaches him to swear like an Australian.  
You and Logan finish as the second-ranked pair in the class.

The prime minister calls and you almost hang up on the joker.  
He congratulates you; promises you Australia's next Jaeger, already under construction.  
"You're going to save the world, boys."

You arrive in Sydney for the announcement.  
There're cheers and a proud-looking Mum and Dad  
(They're not fighting. For once).  
There's Derek lit up like Christmas came early.  
There're thumps on the back from the Hansen brothers.  
Sydney's golden boys.  
Badasses.  
Heroes.  
Logan tosses off some rude comment about age.  
You chip in one about beauty.  
Old Hansen blinks.  
Older Hansen turns purple.  
Logan smirks.  
So do you.  
You poke Older Hansen in the chest.  
That tears it.  
When the MPs pull the four of you apart, there're black eyes, bloody noses, cuts, scrapes, and bruises scattered around.  
Your rep as bad boys is established.  
You and Logan grin.  
You both keep up the act.  
It comes naturally to Logan.  
It becomes second nature to you.

Meeting _Vulcan Specter_ is love at first sight.  
Almost makes up for being stuck in Hong Kong for a year.  
(Logan doesn't mind; he learns to swear in Cantonese **and** Mandarin.)  
 _Vulcan_ 's built for power like all the Mark IIIs, but the techs make changes just for you:  
Refit her engines for minimum fuel use.  
Reinforce her fists and joints.  
Trade strength and speed for stamina.

It's nearly half a year of patrol after patrol before you're face-to-face with your first Kaiju off Singapore.  
Ugly bastard.  
You're there to back up _Lucky Seven_.  
"Engage only as a last resort," says the marshal.  
"Watch an' learn!" yells Older Hansen.  
And off _Lucky_ goes.  
Thirty minutes later, the Kaiju's still lumbering around.  
Over the comms, the Hansens are wheezing.  
"Li'l help, _Vulcan_?" calls Old Hansen.  
"But there's so much more we kin learn!" you yell back.  
"Jest shut up 'n hit th' thing!"  
You and Logan snort.  
You wade up to the monster.  
Your first swing connects with its jaw and it staggers.  
Logan laughs like he's having the time of his life as you punch again and again.  
Ten minutes and you haven't even taken a deep breath.  
The Hansens eventually get their wind back, wander over, and finish the thing off.  
They get the credit in the press.  
Golden boys, last strike, 'n all that.  
But you know and they know:  
You've made a kill.  
You're Rangers.

**Author's Note:**

> Betawork by the always amazing artificiallifecreator.
> 
> Just case it's not clear, our narrator is the inimitable Jackson Jones.
> 
> To translate nicknames from Jackson-ese to something more recognizable: the 'Kiwi tank' is Iorangi Parata, the second command pilot of _Triton Tasmania_ ; the 'tiny Chinese monks' are Chao and Feng Lin of _Shaolin Rogue_ (Feng is the younger); 'Old Hansen' is Herc and 'Older Hansen' is Scott (remember, in this universe Scott's the older brother).
> 
> Jackson and Logan were originally created for two purposes: to give names to the contents of _Vulcan Specter_ 's Conn-pod and to beat up Hermann once (see "Collective (Un)Conscious" and "Trade"). Then, as "Skeleton Key" started taking shape, they were put to work as a pair of nemeses for Chuck. Then, totally against expectations, they started developing into fully-fledged characters. Since that happened they've become an integral part of the universe we're building.


End file.
